TW W\^>\^v^^6J^ If^ I 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 






ODDEQS^^so^ 



XI THE 



IRISHMAN IN LONDON; 

OR, 

THE HAPPY AFRICAN : 

A FARCE, 

IN TWO ACTS. 



BY WILLIAM M'GREADY, 



AS PEB70BMZO AT TBS PHII.AD£Li>HIii THBATBK, 

PHILADELPHIA : 

rVBUSEEB BI THOVAS H. lAItlllX, 

18S1. 






%1a 






Ob '3^^^ 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 

Philadelphia. 

Captain Seymour Mr. Baker, 

Mr. CoUoony ^^. Varley. 

^'■•^^''u'^^r^V ^^' Francis. 

Murtoch Delany Mr, Burke. 

^^^^^ Mr. Jefferson. 

^y^^^ Mr.Blissett. 

J^^^if? • Mrs. Baker. 

^^™^n^ • Miss Seymour. 

^^^^^ • • Mrs. Francit. 



I • I • I ' I • I • I 



THE 

IRISHMAN m LONDON 



ACT I. 

scKNE I— fl Street, 
alter seymour. 



Seym, Welcome, once more, my native country ! 
being immured three long months on board a ship, 
makes land appear more delightful than even our fan- 
cy can pant it. Yet am I almost insensible to the 
pleasure, from being at so great a distance from my 
beloved Caroline. Oh, Jamaica, happy place ! whicri 
contains all that is dear to me on earth. Her cruel 
father must have intercepted the letters I wrote from 
America — or she would have contrived to let her 
Seymour know, she still retained the same tender af- 
fection for him — good heaven ! is it possible ? ha ! rea- 
son contradicts my sense of seeing, and tells my eyes 
they are deceived — 'tis he ! 

enter mr. frost. 

Dear sir, my joy at seeing the parent of my Caro- 
line so unexpectedly — 

Frost. This assurance is past bearing ; damn it, I 
never am to be h^ippy — I left the West-Indies to live 
in quiet, and here, one of the first things that pre- 
sents itself, is the person of all oihers i wish to avoid. 
But my daughter is in my power, and shall marry the 
man 1 have selected for her directly— Pil take care 
of her happiness. 

A 2 



6 IRISHMAN [M'Cready 

Seym. Great care, indeed, to sacrifice her against 
her inclinations to some wretch. But, who is he ? let 
me know where—. 

Frost, No matter who he is, or what he is; or 
where he lives, or where I live ; you know but little 
of my family at present, and I am determined you 
shall know less. 

Seym, Will you listen to common sense or reason? 

Frost, Yes; who have you brought that can speak 
them ? 

Seym, Come, come, sir, what objection can you 
make to me ? my family is unexceptionable. 

Frost, That may be — but you are a younger bro- 
ther. 

Seym, Thei:, sir, my character and principles are, 
1 hope 

Frost. Such as most of our modern youths, who 
launch into all the luxury and excesses of the town, 
and then are obliged to fiy the country, while the hon- 
est tradesman and industrious mechanic sink into pe- 
nury and wretchedness. 

Seym, I am acquainted with none such, nor do I 
ever cordially reckon a man in the list of my friends, 
who could turn away from the cries of the needy, or 
shut the open hand of mercy from the poor. 

Frost. You don't marry my daughter — therefore be 
satisfied. 

Seym, Sir, my family is good, my conduct irre- 
proachable, my fortune tolerable, and then, sir, I have 
the honour to bear a commission in 

Frost, That— that's one thing about you, I don't 
like, the army. How could your sensible head ever 
think of that ^ to go and be shot at— oh ! 

Seym. Come, come, sir ; don't attempt to ridicule 
a profession which is the pride of every nation. — 
What youth, possessed of the least spirit, would re- 
maiQ inactive, when the sons of our sovereign set so 
glorious at) example, by qualifying themselves to as- 



Act I] IN LONDON. 7 

sist in defending theirnative country, in the field and 
on the ocean. 

Frost. Gad, I believe he is not so bad as I thought 
him ; but Liny is engaged, nn? word given to a young 
fellow with a fine fortune, and I always retain that 
principle of honour, to serve my friends, when, in so 
doing, I doubly serve myself. [exit 

Seym. Astonishing ! 'tis some comfort, however, to 
know she is in England. I would follow him, but it is 
now the precise time Mr. Wilson appointed to meet 
me, as second to the gentleman who has challenged my 
friend, lieutenant Corbett ; and here must I continue, 
though at the expense of happiness, or, perhaps, be 
disgraced, for a violation of the most pernicious cus- 
tom ever regarded in a civilized nation. 

enter edward. 

Ed%v. Oh, sir, such news ! miss Caroline is in town, 
has been here these two months — I found it out by the 
greatest chance. 

Seym. How, how ? 

Edw, Why, sir, I met Cymon, pretended to him that 
I had left you in America, and he told me they were 
all come ; and that there was great doings preparing 
for an elegant young fellow from Ireland, who was to 
marry mihs Cnroline immediately, 

Seym, By heavens! no such circumstance ever shall 
take place ; and how to prevent it ? Edward, you, in 
general, have a happy invention, and I am certain if 
you exert it you might gain me an interview, or, at 
all events, some farther intelligence. 

Edw. {sings) '^ The perquisite softens us into con- 
sent." Ah, my invention and genius are at present 
employed contrivnig how I shall avoid the civilities 
of my tailor, shoemaker, washerwoman, and a few 
other friends, whom I left rather abruptly. Now 
they'll renew their former mode of paying their re- 
spects to me ; and though I never return one visit, 
they'll still continue their kind inquiries. If I had but 



« IRISHMAN [M'Cready 

a few guineas to satisfy those gentry, my mind would 
be easy, my person free; and thus. disencumbered I 
should most certainly devise means to deliver from 
my master a letter to his dear Caroline, before she 
consults her downy pillow this night. 

Seym. My honest fellow, make good your words, 
and twenty guineas shall be your reward. 

Edw. Twenty guineas! twenty ? she has — or I mean 
she shall have the letter. Write it, sir, write it — 
let me have it. 

Seym. While I stop to write, be very particular in 
observing any gentleman that maybe hereabouts; 
and if he should seem at a loss, direct him to me, or 
come directly for me. 

Ediv. Oh Lord ! oh, sir, yonder I see my tailor — 
I told you these people would impede my march, if I 
was not prepared for them. Dear me, how shall I 
avoid him ? 

Seym, Avoid him ! who is he ? what's his name ^ 

Edw. His name is a — the — oh damn it, 'tis very odd 
I never can remember the name of a man 1 owe 
money to — that is, when I am poor ; for then I am al- 
ways dejected at the sight of them. But when I have 
money, and can pay them, I face them as bold as a 
lion. How do you do, says I, how do you do? 

Seym. W^ith those principles 'tis a pity you should 
ever want. Here, take this, and observe my direc- 
tions, while I write the letter. [exit 

Ediv, I will, sir — what's here? ten guineas! Mr. 
Snip ! oh, he's off some other way, and Fll be damn'd 
if I call him back. Let me see ; ten guineas ! my 
master is a noble fellow — I wish he was a general, 
then his pocket might keep pace with his heart : at 
present, the one is always a day's march behind the 
other. But how shall 1 contrive to deliver his letter? 
no matter — I'll trust to chance, and convince him, with 
all his dej^pair, 

That English wit, how'er despised by some, 

Like English valour, still shall overcome. {exit 



Act I] IN LONDON. 9 

enter colloony. 

ColL Oh London, London, dear London, as Ercher 
says, had I nrjillions, Pd spend it all there— it's the 
mert for enjoyment. The leedies so bewitching, the 
squeers so elegant, the theatres so enchanting, the 
players so greet, and, in short, every thing so capti- 
vating, that I wish from my heart 1 may never leave 
it. Where is this servant of mine I I decleer there is 
no bearing his inattention. I desired him to meet me 
here at this time precisely ; 'pon my honour, I must no 
longer neglect visiting Mr. Frost and the leedies. 

MURTOCH, singing without. 

We Irishmen, both high and low, we are both neat and 

handy, 
The ladies, every where we go, allows we are the dandy ; 
To be sure we are, and indeed wx are. 

enters, 

ColL Indeed I'll break your thick head if you don't 
hold your tongue, and till me did you find the filece^ 
and bring me the money ? 

Murt, Well, well, I will, sir. The— a— och, sir, 
I wish we were at home again. This is the devil of 
a place. 

ColL I say, sirrah, have you found the banker^s I 

Murt. No, in troth, sir. 

ColL No! pray, thin, where's the chick I gave 
you } 

Murt, Where ! why sure, sir, you did not bid me 
keep it ? 
^ ColL I bid you give it to the banker, and bring the 
money ; where is it? 

Murt, Why, Til tell you, sir — the truth is, I did not 
give him the check— nor the devil a farthing he gave 
me — for I didn't see him at all, at all. 

ColL Was there iver such a provoking scoundrel ! 
tell me this moment, where, and what you have been 
about } 



10 IRISHMAN [M'Cready 

Murt, Och, faith ! and I have been about, and tum- 
bled about bravely ; for the people here walk the 
streets as if they couldn't see — for one parson gave 
me a drive on one side, and when I only turned to ax 
him what he done that for, another gave me a shoul- 
der with his elbow on the t'other side : so, upon my 
soul, sir, I was going backward every step I went for- 
ward. But at last I saw a crowd staring up, so my- 
self ax'd decently what was the matter — stop, and 
luck up, says the man, and you'll see : myself did so, 
and there was too black pictures of men, with shille- 
lahs in their fists, thumping at one another because 
the clock was striking. When it had done, they had 
done, and I was done, yes, faith, and finely done, for 
I found they picked my pocket of the chick that I held 
fast in my hand, and every thing I had in the world ; 
and the hat off my head into the bargain. 

Coll. The rascal has been gaping about instid of 
minding his business — I will most certainly send you 
home. Dill. 

Murt, Och ! worrow do, sir, send me home ; but 
mind, I won't go to sea, I got enough of that ; if once 
I get to sweet Ballinrobe, the devil burn me if ever I 
wish to see foreign parts again, or any, but our netrel 
parts at home — to be sure, it is the sweetest little place 
in the world, Ireland is. 

ColL Why, you scoundrel, do you want to bring a 
mob about us ? hold your tongue about Ireland, I say — 
go wait at home for me, and don't be exposing— 

Murt. Exposing to talk of Ireland ! faith, sir, beg- 
ging your pardon, I think a man does not desarve to 
belong to any country, that's ashamed to own it. [exit 

ColL 1 am of Murtoch's opinion, but he is lik^ other 
partial fools praising his country this moment and dis- 
gracing it the next ; I wish to prove by actions in- 
stead of words, that Ireland is the soil for virtue, not 
vice, to flourish in. 



Act I] IN LONDON. 11 

enter seymour. 

Seym, I have dispatch'd Edward with tiy letter, 
and shall be all anxiety till he returns. This, I sup- 
pose, is the gentleman froni Mr. Wilson — sir, I en- 
treat your pardon, I saw you in conversation, so pre- 
sumed to finish my letter. 

ColL Pray, sir, meek no apologies, as we are short- 
ly to be closely connected. They are quite unneces- 
sary, {aside) Ton my honour, he looks very young 
for the lady's father ; but perhaps he is her brother, 
and that's the same thing. 

Seym, Sir, I sincerely wish every thing to be ami- 
cably settled. 

ColL Amicably ? by my word, but there's no fear 
of that. When people are willing, you know it re- 
quires no time to make up their minds, however aw- 
ful the occasion may be. 

Seym, Awful indeed, sir ; but I hoped the whole af- 
fair might drop where it began, and no more be 
thought of it on either side. 

ColL Drop, sir ! 'pon my honour, with my consent, 
it never shall drofi^ at least I hope we shallnot be 
so far in the fashion, as to part until one or other is 
dead. 

Seym, How positive gentlemen of Ireland are in 
cases of this nature ! I can't say, sir, but I am heartily 
concerned to see you so strenuous in a bad cause. 

ColL A bad cause? now I think it a very good 
cause — and one I'll not easily relinquish ; for though 
I don't know I have any violent affection for the ob- 
ject, yet I can't submit to such an imposition on my 
understanding. 

Seym, Well, sir, since this is your determination, 
please to mention your time and place. 

ColL That, sir, shall be solely as you please. 
Seym, What if we refer it to the principals to 
settle. 
ColL With all my heart ; because, as I am one. 



12 IRISHMAN [M'Cready 

I know my own resolution, and I hope the lady knows 
hers. 

Seym, The lady, sir ? what lady ? 

ColL Why the lady we're talking about, and that 
I'm going to be married to. 

Seym, Sir, I beg pardon ; but we are in a strange 
error. Pray, did not you come here as second in an 
affair of honour between two gentlemen } 

Coll, 'Pon my soul, sir, I did not ; I came as first in 
an affair of honour between a lady and myself; I 
was inquiring for her father, who lives somewhere 
in this neighborhood. I hope, sir, you'll excuse this 
mistake. 

Seym, Sir, 'twas a mutual error, therefore apolo- 
giesare useless — it's probable some half-witted genius 
has led us into this blunder — sir, your obedient. 

' [exit 

ColL Sir, your humble servant — I must return to 
mv apartment for the address of my intended father- 
in-law. Oh, I wish the jackanapes that caused this 
confusion between myself and that gentleman, was 
within the reach of my keen^ I'd larn him that the 
greatest blunder an Irishman could commit, would be 
to neglect chastising the impartinent puppy that of- 
fends him. [exit 

SCENE II— a chamber. 
CAROLINE, LOUISA, and cuBBA discovercd, 

Loui, Well, Caroline, I vow you are almost ridi- 
culous — fretting to such a degree about a man, that, in 
all human probability, has been in love with twenty 
women since you parted, and may be happily marri- 
ed f .r ought you know. 

Car. No, no ; my Seymour is too honorable — so 
true and faithful is he, that a blister would appear on 
his lips should falsehood touch *em. 

Loui, Very pathetic indeed ! but for all his truth 
and tender lips, many a good fib has he swallowed in 



Act I] IN LONDON. 13 

his life, that was in no danger of choking him. Nay, 
no tears, you know how sincerely I feel for you. 

Car. Oh, Louisa, where is the soul that can con- 
ceive my sufferings ? the sun that cheers the whole 
creation, affords no comfort to the unfortunate Car- 
oline. 

Loui. Compare your situation with mine, and your 
sufferings must seem light — deprived at an early age 
of my parents, and the small property left me, how 
wretched should I have been but for your friendship, 
that procured your father's bounty for an unfortunate 
orphan, whose thankful heart will cherish an impres- 
sion of gratitude while life remains. 

Cud. Missa, you frette so, you make a de rain come 
in poor Cubba yies. 

JLoui. Oh dear ! I wish with all my heart Seymour 
would come and run away with you — we lead a most 
painful life, for if your father suffers us to go into the 
park, we are obliged to walk stately and look directly 
before us, like a pair of coach horses newly harnessed 
for a state day ; yet, though I rally you, I can't bear 
the thoughtsofyour having this young Irishman, whom 
you have never seen, and perhaps can never like; and 
indeed he may not like you ; but to please two old 
fools, you reluctantly take each other for better for 
worse—when you'd rather let it alone. 

Car, Take him ! never. Were he the most ac- 
complished of men, 1 could be inspired with no senti- 
ment but pity for him. 

Cub. Missee, you pity great man } he no good — me 
pity poor black, he no do good — run away — he get 
whip and chain — why every body no be happy like 
me? 

LouL You only say so, Cubba— you are not happy — 
you don't love your mistress. 

Cud. Decree me, my mout no big enough for me say 
how much me love my missa. 

Loui. Honest creature ! what a pity it is all your 
count rv a'n't as good as you. 

B 



14 IRISHMAN [M'Cready 

Cub, Good, bad, all colours. Bochro read great big 
book, tell him how he can be good — for all dat, some 
do very bad— poor black no understand read — how 
they know good from bad, when them massa no show 
them good zample ? 

Loui, But, Cubba, what will you do when your mis- 
tress marries Mr. Colloony and goes to Ireland ? 

Cub, Me go too — me leave my country and friend 
for sake of my missa — me follow her all the world 
over-— missa be every ting to poor Cubba. 

Car, How can you, Louisa, mention such a cir- 
cumstance, even in jest, when you know my senti* 
ments ? 

Loui. Perhaps your sentiments and mine may be 
so congenial, that the old gentleman's schemes may 
be defeated, and you be happy with your Seymour ; 
for however he may rove, a good soldier will always 
return to his head-quarters. 

enter frost. 

Frost, Come, cheer up, Liny — your lover cer- 
tainly will be here to-day — the knot shall be tied to- 
morrow. 

Car. Dear sir, don^t expose your Caroline to the 
misery of refusing, when nature powerfully informs 
her, 'tis her duty to obey — indeed, indeed, I^never can 
love this Mr. Colloony. 

Frost, How do you know ? you have never seen him 
— why, he is young, handsome, rich ^' 

Car, Mention not his qualifications, sir, for ray 
heart is engaged. 

Frost, Yes, and my word is engaged — the young 
fellow coming all the way from Ireland on purpose— 
a fine settlement made on you — is not that better than 
starving with your Seymour ? 

Car, Poverty with him, sir, is preferable to a pal- 
ace without him — he loves me. 

Frost, You're mistaken, its my money he loves — 
but he'll never touch a shilling of it, that I am re- 
solved. 



Act I] IN LONDON. 15 

Car, I don't know what your resolution may be, 
but mine is unalterably fix'd — dear sir, I have only to 
entreat you will give up the idea of plunging me in 
wretchedness — remember youVe a father, sir, and 
that indulgence should ever unite with that name. 

[exit 

Cub, Ah ! poor missee, she be so good — still she 
cry great deal — Bochro do wrong, laugh and be hap- 
py — nobody ought to be merry when missee frettee. 

[jsxit 

Frost, Ay, follow he>, you — you — whenever I am 
vext, or in trouble, that angel of darkness is sure to 
come in my way; I tell her every hour that she i§ in a 
blessed land of liberty, that she's her own mistress, 
free as air, in hopes I shall get rid of her ; but she 
won't stir — no, she sticks like bird lime — then, that 
curst Cymon comes with his similes — there was neigh- 
bor Diggins robbed last night, by mistake ; for I'm 
sure 'twas my house they meant to attack. Oh dear ! 
oh dear ! I shall have my throat cut ! they'll be with 
me to-night — was there ever such a little, wretched, 
unfortunate old man ! 

Loui, La, sir, you frighten yourself with shadows- 
why should the thieves mean to rob you ? 

Frost, I know they did— I know it — I am misera— 
no, no, I am happy — you make me happy — you are 
to me, a — a — a sun without a spot — a— heaven 'vith- 
out a cloud \ 

Loui, This is a change indeed ! you were but this 
momfent declaring you were a wretched, unfortunate, 
little old man. 

Frost, No, I am not old— fifty or so, no age for a 
man — Liny distracts me so, I am determined to mar- 
ry. I may live these forty years. 

Loui, A pretty prospect that, for your poor wife 
that is to be. {aside) 

Frost. And if you would take compassion on mCj 
and do yourself justice— 



16 IRISHMAN [M'Cready 

Loiii. Oh, sir ! if I take compassion on you, I hope 
you'll do me justice ! 

Frost. That I will—you know in the West-Indies 
I administered justice — I was there a justice of peace. 

Loui. Yes ; but not just now. 

Frost. Oh, no, not in office — but the settlement you 
shall have, can be equalled by nothing but my love — 
I do love you beyond 

Loui. Don't say so, you wish to deceive me ; a true 
lover would hang or drown himself, break his neck, 
poison, or stab himself in a fit of despair ; would you 
do any of these ? 

Fvost. Eh ? if you'll marry me perhaps I may ; who 
knows what good things time may bring about. 

Loui. Ah! there's little good to be expected from 
him — I never knew the old gentleman with his scythe 
and his glass, bring any thing but grey hairs, thin 
cheeks, wrinkles, and loss of teeth. 

Frost. That's true ; and you don't know what a ter- 
rible thing it is to be an old maid. 

Loui. No ; nor I hope I never shall, (knock) 

Frost. Hark ! there's somebody coming. Will you 
promise me an interview ^ I have something very 
particular to say to you — we'll be quite private — nay, 
do now, now 

Loui. Well, sir, you may expect me. 

Frost. Oh ! my charmer, I'm distracted — oh ! — 
{kisses her hand) adieu ! 

Loui. Adieu — I'm much mistaken if I don't cure 
the gentleman of his love fits before I have done with 
him. lexie 

Frost. Oh, she loves me, it's too plain — I have long 
suspected it. What a very engaging, agreeable, nice, 
handsome, little fellow I must be, to captivate so sweet 
a girl. 

enter cymon. 

What do you want ? who was that knocked at the 
door ? 



Act I] IN LONDON. 17 

Cymon. A man, sir ; he gave me this as nimble as 
a fencing master, and hopped away like a dancing 
master. 

Frost. Oh curse your similes! let me see, from 
Mr. Coiloony — that's delightful (reads) *' Sir, my 
anxiety to take you by the hand, can only be equalled 
by my passionate desire to see your amiable daugh- 
ter, and with the speedy assistance of Hymen, shall 
glory in the liberty of being her slave. The earliest 
moment possible 1 hope to make acceptable, to Mr. 
Frost, the devoirs of his truly devoted and most as- 
sured humble servant, William Patrick O'Brien Coi- 
loony." — Oh, he's a fine ardent lover ! they shall be 
married to-morrow morning. D'ye hear, Cymon ? 
take care every thing is ready for the reception of 
your new master. How does my purchase come on, 
the coach-horses? 

Cymon. Troth, sir, bad enough — they are only fit 
for the crows. One of them, the sorrel horse, puts 
me woundily in mind of a lawyer. 

Frost, A lawyer ? how now, how can that be ? 

Cymon. Why, sir, he is well paid for every journey 
he goes ; and the other is downright game, for he'd 
sooner die than run. 

Frost. Have done, sir, or Fll brain you — this fellow 
makes me*as melancholy— 

Cymon, As an owl at noon-day — now, your honour, 
I'm as merry as a mouse at midnight. 

Frost. That's always the case— I am never out of 
humour, but you are as pleased as 

Cymon. As a peasant with a plumb cake at Christ- 
mas, or an old lady on her wedding day. 

Frost. Will any body take this fellow from me? 
I'll change your tune! I'll make you as sorrowful 
as-— ~ 

Cymon, As a young bride with an old husband. 

Frost, Oh ! you damn*d dog, where did you get 
that ? that's the worst of all. {knock) Go to the doer, 
I say. 

B 2 



18 IRISHMAN [M'Cready 

Cymon. Yes, sir — I think I am as whimsical to-day 
as a merry- Andrew's coat. [^exit 

Frost. That fellow's as bad to me as the gout — I 
can find no cure for him. 

enter gym on. 

Cymon, Sir, sir— here's a grand gentleman dressed 
like a peacock, and talks like a magpie. 

Frost. Was there ever such an affronting scoun- 
drel ! show him in. [exit Cymon 
It must be Mr. Colloony — I say, Cubba, send your 
mistress to me immediately. Oh, dear, this is lucky. 

enter Caroline. 

Car. Did you send for me, sir ? 
Frost. Yes, yes, here's Mr. Colloony— it can be no- 
body else. 

enter edward, dressed in a tawdry manner. 

Sir, I rejoice to see you — how do you ? so is my daugh- 
ter indeed, sir, though she says nothing — why the 
devil don't you speak ? 

Car. Sir, I— I 

Fdw. I have got into the house at all events, and 
must trust to impudence for the rest, (jaside) 

Frost. Liny, my love, naa, now, do oblige your poor 
father — sir, she's excessively fond of you ; but she 
naturally expects you to speak first. 

Edw, Certainly, my dear sir — fond of me ! oh, ho! 
then I must be in love — here goes, {aside) Oh, ma- 
dam ! you're such a beauty, so full of charms, so all 
over engaging, such a shape, such a hand, such sym- 
metry, such eyes, such lips, such smiles, such frowns, 
such love, such — oh ! I'm quite out of breath. 

Frost. Well dam'me, but he's a comical fellow ! 
how he has gallop'd over the poor girl ! I don't think 
he has much of the brogue — but, sir, I say, my— - 

Edw. Then, her foot, sir ; do but look at her foot, 
sir— a foot proportioned to the body— the body suited 



Act I] IN LONDON. 19 

to the face, the face suited to the soul, the soul to the 
heart, the heart to the mind, the mind to — as my 
friend Hamlet says, in his device to the actors, " the 
action to the word ;" and then she has so much 
oh dear, oh dear, I cap go no farther — now to try to 
give her the letter, {aside) 

Frost. How his tongue dftes run ! I am afraid Liny 
will never have him, he's such a fool. But, sir, you 
confound her with your compliments. 

Edw. You wrong me, sir ; I cant flatter — I truly 
love, I adore, I live for you — I — I can't find the let- 
ter, {aside) Oh, madam, say that you'll marry me, or 
1 shall curse my stars, go mad, and die ! 

Frost, Die and be damn'd, for you're the strangest 
fish I ever met. Sir, ril speak to my daughter, and 
if^ 

Edw. Oh ! that (/"has driven me to despair, for — 
(aside) 1 have lost the letter — n.y peace of mind is— 
dam'me but it's gone ! (aside) it has undone my quiet, 
ruined me, blasted all my hopes — farewell, board- 
wages, laced liveries, all joy, peace, and happiness ! 
oh! 

Frost. Sir, I'll withdraw a little to order some re- 
freshment, and— 

Car. Dear sir, don't leave me with this wretch, 
this fool I 

Frost. Don't abuse him. Liny : 'tis your charms 
have made him a little flighty— I wish they had cut 
his wings before they had let him away, for he's the 
wildest Irishman 1 ever saw. lexit 

Car. Sir, I say 

Edw. Stop, madam, forJieaven's sake I I am Ed- 
ward ; my master, captain%eymour, is in town. 

Car. Ha! can it be! my Seymour in England! 

Edw. Yes, ma'am, and has sent you — a letter.-r 
{searching for it) 

enter frost. 

Frost, I don't like leaving my child with this wild 



^0 IRISHMAN [M'Cready 

Irishman. Eh, egad, they seem very quiet — I'll 
listen. 

Hdw, Dear, dear, I have certainly left it in my 
other clothes. But the circumstance is this, ma'am— 
my master, this morning, saw your father, and on 
finding you were in town, wrote a letter, which I un- 
dertook to deliver to you. \Mr, Frost comes between 
iheniy flushes Caroline off; Edward continues telling 
of the letter) But 1 have unfortunately mislaid it. I 
can assure you he loves you as much as ever ; and if 
you would but write a few lines, to say you love him, 
he'll run away with you, in spite of that cruel cur- 
mudgeon your father, and — {turning about meets Mr, 
Frost J face to face) Oh, murder! 

Frost. Thieves ! Cymon ! thieves ! knock him 
down. 

Edw. Yes, sir. {knocks Cymon down as he enters^ 
and exit) 

F^ost. Oh, murder ! thieves ! Cymon ! where are 
you ^ 

Cymon. Here sir ; as flat as a flounder. 

Frost. My poor fellow ! go shut the door, and be 
sure to bolt, lock, and chain it. But see that impostor 
out of my house. 

Cy?non. Yes, sir — I'll see every thing as safe as a 
guinea in a miser's purse. 

Frost. Oh, curse your similes ! I must go myself 
and see every thing secure. ^exeunC 



Acy IL 

SCENE I. 

enter louisa and Caroline. 

Car. Thank heaven ! I know my Seymour is in 
England — I have heard enough to convince me he 
still loves me ; and constancy'^ the only proof of true 



Act II] IN LONDON. 21 

affection — I hope he may devise some means to free 
me. 

Loui, If he did not, I am sure he should not have 
me. A soldier ! and in love ! and to be afraid of such 
a little old fellow as your father ! 

enter gym on in haste, 

Cymon, Ma'am, he's come; Mr. Colloony ; lord, I 
am as much out of breath as a trumpeter. 
Frost, {without) Walk in — walk in, sir. 

enters with coLLOONy. 

I am overjoyed to see you. Walk in, sir, walk in. 
Ladies— ladies, this is Mr. Colloony ; sir, my daugh- 
ter, and her friend miss Bellmont. 

Coll. Ladies, your most obedient, {salutes them) 
This warm and kind reception is truly flattering, and 
impresses me strongly with the idea of my future 
happiness. 

Frost, Oh, I'm sure you'll be very happy. There's 
a husband for you, Linny ! is he to be compared to 
your captain ? 

Car, No, indeed, sir, I don't think he is. 

Frost, That's a good girl. Well, sir — you shall be 
married this morning. Oh dear — and how is my old 
friend, your worthy father, and all your family ? what 
sort of a passage had you I I suppose you were very 
much fatigued after your journey .^ will you have some 
refreshment? oh, I'm so happy, come, tell me all. 

Coll. All! Upon my honor, he asks all, and will 
hear nothing — sir, I left my father and all the family 
very well, as his letters will acquaint you. I say 
Dill, bring up that parcel. Dill. 

enter murtoch, with a portmanteau, 

Murt, Here, sir, here ; arrah, maister Pat, don't 
be calling me Dill, myself can't bear it, it's making so 
little of one. My name, ladies, saving your presence} 
is Murtoch Delany ; and though maister Pat's my 



22 IRISHlMAN [\rCready 

master, I don't know who the devil made him my 
god -mother. 

Coll. Get away, sirrah ! sir, you will find by these 
peepers the liberality of my father. He gives me his 
whole estate while he lives, and makes me heir to all 
the rfest when he dies. 

Murt. Oh, the devil burn the blade of grass, horse, 
cow, servant, or any other fixture upon the estate, 
even to the value of a sucking pig, but will be all his 
own. 

Frost, Oh, I'm too happy ; you shall be united di* 
rectly. 

ColL I should, think myself unworthy* indeed, if 
words could express how much I feel indebffed to your 
goodness, before 1 had the felicity of seeing the lady ; 
I could think of nothing else ; and such an effect had 
the description of her on my mind, I decleer 1 could 
not sleep a wink for dreeming of her. 

Frost, Here, here's all the settlement ; lam so over- 
joyed I scarcely know what to say or do ; but you did 
not tell me what sort of a passage you had. 

Coll, Why, sir, they said it was a good one, but I 
was sick of— . 

Murt. Sick ! arrah, ladies, we were kilt, myself 
was quite dead, I was all — a — I called to the captain 
to stop ; stop and put me out, says I ; nonsince, man, 
says he ; if I put you out, it will be in the water, and 
then you'll go to Davy Jones. Oh thank'e, Loursee, 
says I, it's time enough for me to go and live with that 
jontleman when I am dead in earnest. 

Loui, Then you are not fond of the sea, Mr. Col- 
loony. 

ColL No, indeed, ma'am ; if they'd give me the 
finest estate upon earth, I could not live in it with any 
enjoyment on board a ship. 

Frost, But come, are not the towns through which 
you came worthy of observation ? 

ColL Certainly, sir ; your manufactories are so as* 



Act II] IN LONDON. 23 

tonishingly greet, they prove at once the wonderful 
industry and wealth of your nation. 

Murt. Ax your pardon, ladies ; I'll tell you : I could 
see three times as much as maister Pat, for 1 slept all 
the way on the outside of the coach, and the devil a 
manufactory I saw equal to our own. Och ! if you 
could only look at the oyster beds in Poolbeg, the 
Foundling or the Lying-in Hospital at Dublin, they 
are the right sort of manufactories. 

ML Ha, ha, ha ! 

Murt, Faith, you may laugh, but I am sure there 
can't be better maniifactrys in the world, than those 
that provides comfortable lodgings, and every sort of 
bread and meat, for poor creatures that can't provide 
for themselves. 

ColL Hold ycur preeting, sirrah ; leedies, I hope 
you'll excuse him. 

Frost* They are getting into conversation ; I'll try 
to keep them engaged, {aside) But, Mr, CoUoony, do 
now favour us with your opinion of our country, and an 
account of your journey. 

Coll, 'Twas a very pleasant journey ; travelling 
here, sir, is much better than in Ireland. 

Murt. {aside) Oh, murther, murther ! 

Coll. The roads are so very excellent, the inns so 
large, and the mile stones so regular 

Murt, Och! maister Pat, don't be running down 
our country ; myself can't bear it ; you know the roads 
are a thousand times better in Ireland ; ladies, ladies, 
the miles are three times as long as they are here; 
and then the devil a half mile can you go, but there's 
a beautiful wooden mile stone ; I'm sure from the time 
we left the hill of Houth, till we got to that spalpeen 
place they call Holy-head, the devil a bit of land I 
saw, but what was all covered over with water ; pret- 
ty travelling indeed! 

ColL Begone, you scoundrel ; leave the room, I say, 

Murt. Sir? 



24 IRISHMAN [M'Cready 

Coll. Leave the room, I say, sir. 

Murt. Leave the room, you say, sir? oh, mighty 
well ; there's more o' the yarn ! bad travelling I I'll 
say nothing before the company, but if ever I forgive 
this~Ladies, your most engaging conversation — 
{goes off muttering) If I ever forgive this — 

Frost, Your father, in this letter, seems particular- 
ly anxious that the marriage ceremony should be per- 
formed as soon as possible ; now Pm desirous it should 
be so too ; what do you say, sir ? 

ColL What do I say, sir I why I say, ask the lady : 
I deem it the happiest moment of my life ! he must be 
covetous indeed, that could form a wish beyond what 
is here to be found, {bowing to Louisa^ 

Frost. Liny, thank him. Isn't he an elegant, po- 
lite, well-bred man ? a'n't you surprized and rejoic- 
ed — the license is ready— I'll go to the parson; it 
must be done before twelve ; we have but an hour and 
a half. 

ColL I am forced to tear myself away, but rely on 
my punctuality, twelve. In that particular we have 
the advantage in Ireland — the moment Cupid's arrow 
pierces. Hymen's torch is in a blaze, and the rever- 
end gentleman at any hour leads consenting hearts to 
the temple of bliss — the ceremony over, Cei es pre- 
sides, Momus attends, and Bacchus crowns the feast; 
while the reigning toast is, '' may the nuptial bower 
be ever adorned with roses, and the present couple 
be as happy as the greetest and best pair in Europe." 

[exeunt with Frost 

Lout, Caroline, how could you treat Mr. Colloony 
in such a manner ; you scarce looked at him. Are 
not you on the very brink of matrimony ^ to disap- 
point him now what would the world say I 

Car. Yet disappointed he shall be^ and I am in no 
dread of what people may say. The truly virtuous 
mind makes itself judge, and, satisfied within, smiles, 
at that commcn enemv, the world, 



Act II] IN LONDON. 25 

enter frost. 

Frost, Come, girls, prepare ; Louisa, you shall go 
loo — you shall be bride's-maid. Hadn't you rather 
be a bride ? 

Loui, Why, sir, I can't say I should have any ob- 
jection. 

Frost, Oh, charming! you make me young again — 
egad, I begin to think — oh dear — go and prepare, for 
Mr. CoUoony will return directly. [exit Louisa 

Oh the lovely sweet— 

enter edward, singing. 

Frost, Well, sir, what do you want ? 

Ediv. Sir, I — a — beg pardon, sir, I believe I am 
come to the wrong house. 

Frost. Then pray, sir, go to the right house. 

Fdw. Yes, sir. [exit singing 

Frost, Do, sir. Cymon, who is that fellow ? he 
had but an ill look, methought— shut the door there — 
now. Liny, my love, be a good girl ; I'm so pleased, 
that I shall give you an additional hundred pounds, 
for you to— - 

enter edward. 

He here again ! I thought you were gone to the right 
house ? 

Fdw, This is it, sir. Pray, did not a gentleman of 
the name of Colloony — I got that from the Irish ser- 
vant (aside)'-'go out of this house a little time ago ? 

FYost. Yes, sir ; but if you want him, he'll be back 
directly. 

Fdw, No, sir, he will not — a sad accident has hap- 
pened to him. 

Frost, Mercy on me, I hope not. 

Fdw, Truth, indeed, sir — I'll tell you the particu- 
lars. At the corner of the next street a gentleman 
attacked him — sir, says he, you are a villain, then 
drew his sword, and pushed violently at him— thus, 

C 



26 IRISHMAN [M'Cready 

sir, thus, madam-^thus. {flushes the letter over 
Frost^s shoulder^ ivhich she does not notice) Oh, ihe 
blind creature ! 

Frost, Dear me, how unlucky ! I wish he was re- 
turned — I hope he is not hurt. 

£dw. He is, sir, yes he is — it's rather an odd 
place. 

Frost. Where, where ? is it in a mortal part ? 

Fdw. It's in the back, sir — in the back, mn'am, in 
the b<ick — dam'me, but she'll die a maid, [he turns 
his back to her^ and the letter is fastened to it; she 
takes no notice of it) And so, captain Seymour, 
ma'am 

Frost, Oh, that curst captain ! 

Car Captain! what, was it my— 

Frost. No, no, it was not. 

Fd%if. Yes, yes, ma'am, it was — a— 

Frost, {stofi/iing' his mouth) No, no, she must not 
know he is so near her. I don*t think, at least, I hope, 
it was not Mr. CoUoony. 

Fdw. Yes, it was, sir. 

Frost, Why, how was the gentleman dress'd ? 

Fdw. Why, sir, he had a scarlet coat on, a riding 
habit, sir ; he was in boots, and had a cockade in his 
hat. {fixes the letter over the cockade and pushes 
towards her^ which she takes) 

Frost. And how is Mr. CoUoony ? tell me. 

Fdw, Why, sir, as soon as captain Seymour saw 
the blood trickle from his antagonist, he jumpt to.him, 
took him. in his arms, thus, and carried him to Dr. 
Julep's this way. 

Car, Blessed contrivance, 'tis from my Henry ; but 
how to send an answer I if I go to my room, Edward 
may be gone before I can write. What shall 1 do ? 
invention assist roe. (writes with her pencil on the 
letter) 

Frost, But what did the doctor say ? did he think 
him in danger .> 

Fdw, Why, sir, we hope not. He probed the wound, 



Acl II] IN LONDON. 27 

and after muttering a great many gallipot phrases, 
that none but the brethren of the pill-box understand, 
he pronounced him out of danger, and ordered him to 
be put to bed, his stomach to be fomented with a — a— 
bason of soup — and 

Car. If this does but succeed, {aside) Sir, sir, this 
fellow's an impostor. I'll let my honoured father know 
your villany. Sir, while you were libtening to his story, 
he forced this letter into my hand ; but to show how 
I regard the writer, there take his impertinent scrawl 
back again, {throws it on the ground) 

Edw. The art of man won't prevent her being an 
old maid. Ma'am— 

Frost, Oh, jLou damn'd dog! let me see it, my dear 
— we'll throw it into the fire, and this fellow out of 
the window. 

Car, No, sir, I cannot wish him a greater punish- 
ment, than to return his letter just in that manner. 

Edw, Here's usage for my poor master ! but, ma'am, 
is there nothing for— or by way of — a 

Frost, Oh, you want something, do you ? I'll pay 
you ; there's wood upon wood — come along. Liny, and 
if ever I catch you in this house again, Til leave you 
no more brains than a fiddler. [exeunt 

enter murtoch, singing. 

Och, whiskey, it's you that's my darling. 

It's you that keeps me on my feet ; 
And often you cause me to stagger, 

"Whenever we chance for to meet. 

Maister Pat, I'm come to desire that you will — a — 
oh, he's gone ! it's well for him — I was just going to 
discharge him — he vexes me so when he speaks con- 
grumshously about the sod — I won't, for 1 can't bear 
it — I have made Cymon blind drunk in love with Ire- 
land—I was telling him all about it, and he supp'd up 
my intelligence like a gentleman ; to be sure he mixt 
it a little, for he emptied the best part of two bottles 



28 IRISHMAN [M'Cready 

of port, that miss gave to make much of me, and there 
he lies stretched on the floor, snoring as quiet as a 
stone in a wall. I'm quite up — Pm almost corn'd, 
faith, with lucking at him drinking it. To be sure 
Pm not the naaty — I wish I had something to do — that 
somebody would affront me, or a fine young lady fall 
in love with me— or any divarting accident of that 
nater. 

enter cubba. 

Cub, You want speaka wi me ? 

Murt. Och, hone, what's this? sure the crater 
wou'd'nt be in love with me — she is, she is! and I am 
sorry for her — but she can't help it — honey, it won't 
do — now don't think of it — a vurneen. 

Cub. Me no understand you. 

Murt, She does not understand me — what a mis- 
fortune it is to want larning — if your school-mistress 
had been a gentleman, she'd teach you the manners 
to say you did, whether or not. I'll larn you to speak 
good English when my master marries your young 
lady. 

Cub. Me hope me not live till den — me sure mis- 
see break her heart, and me rader die than see it. 

Murt, Oh faith, if you die, you won't see it, to be 
sure — may be you'll hear of it, and that will be the 
same thing — miss A — troth I forgot your name. 

Cub, Me name Cubba, *'me only so many year old 
{holding up her Jingers) when cross Bochro man 
catch me — me going walk one day, did take me from 
all my friend — me shall never see dem again— but 
missee so good since she buy me, me no wish to go 
back, though" my fader great king. 

Murt, Pooh, pooh, be asy, miss Cubba! that's being 
too agreeable—your father a king f 

Cub. Iss. 

Murt. Oh ! it's king of the Mummors she manes ; 
ay, ay, that fellow had a black face — I saw him yes- 
terday. 



Act II] IN LONDON. 29 

Cub. No, no ; him live at de Gold Coast. 

Murt, Where ? 

Cub. At de Gold Coast— now nobody here, you 
shut your eye, me tell you something dat make my 
heart open in two. But you look no good — you not be 
angry with Cubba. 

Murt. Oh ! the devil an angry I'll be, honey — I 
never was angry with one of the fair sex in my life — 
ihere, honey, my eyes are shut— go on — the devil a 
word I can hear. 

Cub. Me love a you dearly — but me no want you 
love me — dat be very wrong — your face while, me 
poor negro — me only tell you make me easy, den me 
pray for you be happy. 

Murt. I knew ir — 1 knew it — black, brown, green 
or yellow, I bother them all, oh ! Murtoch — you mur- 
therer of beauty, be quiet — what are you about — but 
the milk of compassion rises within me for poor Cub- 
bah—l wibh she was not sooty— who knows — maybe 
the journey will bleach her — troth it's a shame your 
Oiistress never found out that fellow, that advertises 
to whiten ladies* hands and faces, the limping Jew, 
he'd make you fair as adaisy. Och ! if you had even 
a bit of the violent soap, honey. 

Cub. No matter my colour, if me do right— good 
black face be happier den bad white. 

Murt. Troth and I believe she may be the daugh- 
ter of a king, for she has the mind of a prince — if her 
face was but as white as her heart, she'd be a wife 
for a pope. 

Cub. You tell a Symon fine story about your coun- 
try, me like to hear. 

Murt. Och honey ! she likes ray story, she — sweet 
crater, she's choking with sense ; then you shall have 
it — you know I left off at the exchange — the next is 
the parliament house, but I suppose you heard of the 
chimneys setting the walls afire and burning every 
stick of them-^the live pillars all run away, but the 
dead ones all stood there, as if they were determined 

c 2 



30 IRISHMAN [M'Cready 

to support it as long as they liv'd — I must go to my 
master immediately — but I'll tell you all in a bit of a 

planxty. 

so^G—Murtoch. 

If youM travel the wide world all over, 

And sail across quite round the globe. 
You must set out on horseback from Dover, 

And sail unto sweet Ballinrobe. 
'Tis there you'll see Ireland so famous. 

That was built before Adam was breech'd, 
Who liv'd in the reign of king Shamus, 

Ere he was at the Boyne over-reach'd. 

CHORUS. 

With my whack fal de ral» &c. &c. 
O the land of Shillelah for me. 

There you'll see Ulster^ and Munster, and Leinster, 

Connaught, and sweet Kilkenny likewise, 
That city where first, as a spinster, 

I open'd these pair of black eyes. 
In this town there's fire without smoking. 

For a penny you'd buy fifty eggs. 
And then there's such wit without joking, 

And rabbits without any legs. 

With my whack, &c. 

There you'll see my ancestors glorious. 

The sons of the brave O's and Macs, 
Who died whene'er they were victorious, 

And after that ne'er turn'd their backs. 
Our heads are stout and full of valour. 

Our hearts are wise and full of brains. 
In love we ne'er blush nor change colour. 

And the ladies reward all our pains. 
With my whack, &c. 

Saint Patrick is still our protector, 
He made us an island of saints, 



Act II] IN LONDON. 31 

Drove out snakes and toads like an Hector, 

And ne'er shut his eyes to complaints. 
Then if you'd live and be frisky. 

And never die when you're in bed. 
Come to Ireland and tipple the whiskey. 
And drink ten years after you're dead. 

With my whack fal de ral, &c. &c. 
The land of Shillelah for me. 

SCENE— a street, 

enter seymour arid edward. 

Edw. Oh, sir, your mistress is like the rest of them 
-^weil, he that thinks to hold a woman, will find he 
has got an eel by the tail — there's your letter again — 
that's all the answer that I could get. 

Seyin My letter! 'i>death, you r?scal, is this your 
boasted cleverness ? did you see (iiy Caroline I 

Hdw, Yes, sir; and, after many eff>)rts, at last I 
gave the letter into her own hand, and her lather in 
the room. But she returned it just as you see, and is 
positively to be mat ried this morning. 

Seym, Unlucky scoundrel ! 'tis to you I owe all my 
misfortunes ; by listening to your wretched paltry 
schemes, I have lost all that was dear to me on earth ; 
bu.t you shall injure me no more — all the punishment 
1 can at present infiict, is, to divest you of my pro- 
perty and discard you; so strip, sir, and never let me 
see your face again. 

Edw. Sir ? 

Seym. Call a coach, sir, throw the clothes into it, 
and be gone — strip, 1 sny. 

EA^M, What, sir, in the street I I shall catch cold, 
sir. 

Seym, Do as I desire you, rascal, or 

Edw. Yes, sir, yes — coach — co — lord, sir, you are 
joking. 

Seym, I am ser.iouSj sirrah^du as I order you j no 
words—but—— 



S2 IRISHMAN [M'Cready 

J^cfw. Yes, sir, yes — here's gratitude ! who would 
be a footman now, 1 wonder. There, sir, there's your 
coat, all the rest is my own. 

Seym, Quit my sight— and here, sir, take this letter 
as your reward. 

Edtv. Oh ! sir, virtue is its own reward — I look for 
none. Eh ! what's this ? ha ! kind fortune you never 
deserted me. 

Seytn What is the fellow loitering about — I wish 
he'd ask for his coat again, {asid^) 

Edw, Sir, I have one favour to beg before I go; will 
you be so kind, as just to look at tne outside of that 
letter ? 

Seym, Look at — {taking the letter) ha ! whai's 
here ? {reads) "This is the only method I have to ac- 
quaint my dear Seymour, that I am still the same ; 
my heart is wholly his." Transport! {kisses the let^ 
ter) My charming ! 

£dw, A hem, a hem ! 

Seym. My dear Edward, what shall I say to you ? 

Edw. Nothing, sir ; you've said enough — 'tis to me 
you owe all your misfortunes. 

Seym. Nay, nay, put on your coat. 

Edw No, no, sir ; get another servant ; Til never — 

Seym, Nay, for heaven's sake, Edward — I own I 
have been rash. 

Edw, Rash ! to make me strip here in the open 
street, and expose me to all the world — {walking 
about) 

Seym, {following him) But, Edward, do put on 
your coat. 

Edw I despise a coat— when there's no money in 
the pockets. 

Seym, {gives him money) Now, my dear fellow, 
have done. 

Edw, Lord, sir, I have done — money and a good 
place have stopt greater men's mouths than mine, 

Seym. Take your coat and put it on. 



Act II] IN LONDON. 33 

Edw, Yes, sir— a little of your assistance, if you 
please. 

Seym, My assistance ! 

Edw, Yes, sir ; dam'me, if I put it on without it. 
{Seymour helfis him on with his coat) There — I have 
often assisted you on a sinnilar occasion. 

Seym, Well, come, only think of my anxiety ! 

Edw, Who v¥Ould not t)e a footman now ? it's well 
you're a gentleman, sir. 

Seym, Why ? 

Edw, You make a very good master ; but you'd be 
a damn'd bad servant. 

enter cubba. 

Cub, Massa bring a my dear good missee now, to 
make her marry great man — she send me a to nook 
for you — hee a she come. O dear missee ! 

Seym. Why, there's no man but her father. 

Cub, No ; chum-chum, meet her at de church. 

Seym, Never — let the consequence— 

Edw. Here they come, sir — let's retire a little. 
Come, Cubba, and mind what I say. {they retire) 

enter FResT and ladies, {one on each side) 

Frost, Dear me, the time is getting rapidly over, 
and I dread that fellow's having any more schemes 
to bamboozle and cheat me— but I think if he does 
now, he must be cunning. Come on, Liny. 

Car, Why, sir, how very ridiculous you'll make 
me and yourself in this business — you see plainly, Mr. 
Colloony won't be here. Pray, sir, put it off till to- 
niorrow. 

Frost, No, no ; I am certain he will be here — egad, 
yonder he comes. Louisa, your turn shall be next — 
to-morrow we'll — oh dear ! 

■ ^> c. 



34 IRISHMAN [M'Cready 

enter colloony and murtoch. 

Coll. I hope, sir, I haven't kipt you weeting ; ma- 
dam, I take^^'-^f addressing himself to Louisa) 

JEdward takes Cubba*s hand, sli/is Caroline's gently 
away^ and puts Cubba^s in its filace under Frost's 
arm) 

Frost. Mr. Colloony, don't be ashi^med to be seen 
with your wife before marriage — here she— oh, the 
devil. 

Murt, Arrah ! is it my own little daffy-down-dilly 
you want, maister Pat, to bring home ! O thunder ! 
arrah be asy. 

Frost. Oh, thunder, indeed, what hocus pocus is 
this. 

Coll. Sir, I take your daughter as the greetest gift 
this world can be— 

Frost. Take her ! where will you find her? 

Coll. Here, sir — this lady. 

Frost. That lady ! no, no, no ; she is no daughter of 
mine — she is engaged— she is — oh Liny ! why don't 
you pursue and bring back your wife that is to be ; 
this poor girl has no fortune. 

Coll. Why, then, it's very lucky I have enough for 
us both — and if this lady will make it more by shar- 
ing it with me, it's all at her service. 

Loui. Why, sir, a — there is a certain graceful as- 
surance about some men, that women are strangely 
bewitched with — I own that is my case ; and would 
say, " here's my hand ;" but I fear you'll censure 
me. 

Frost. Oh! dear, oh! was there ever such a wretch- 
ed little old man ! 

enter seymour, Caroline, and edward. 

Car. Dear sir, I can't bear to see you so miserable 
—be reconciled ; and our future conduct shall prove, 
that to make you happy, is all we wish. 



Act II] IN LONDON. 35 

Frost. Ah, confound you all ! Til never — yet stop ; 
since Providence has so far interfered — 'twould be 
presumptuous any longer to oppose your happiness-^ 
she is ynur's, sir, with a good fortune, and the blessing 
of an affectionate father. 

Loul Ay^ now you look like the good-natured lit- 
tle man I always considered you. Let us be friends. 

Frost, With all my soul — I must love you — give 
me your hand — at my time of life, 1 think it's moch 
better to be a good friend, than an indifferent 
husband. 

Murt. Faith, you're right, old gentleman— but all 
our great joy and happiness will be nothing but down- 
right grief and misery, if the hands of all our friends 
do not loudly whisper in our ears, they have no objec- 
tion to the *• IRISHMAN IN LONDON.*' 



THE END. 



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